Original transcripts can be found
here .
Formatting was fixed by me [hard returns between paragraphs etc] and a couple of spelling errors I noticed here and there...
LOIS & CLARK * SEASON ONE * EPISODE #1
THE PILOT EPISODE
Written by Deborah Joy Levine
* INTERPRETED BY SARAH WOOD (e-mail me at
102116.3615@compuserve.com with comments or questions)
* I would like to thank the many FOLCs who contributed to this
transcript, especially Pam Jernigan, Chris Mulder, Genevieve
Clemens, Georgia Walden, Kathy Brown, John Dobson, Donna Hafner,
and Donna Brown. Their input was invaluable.
* A word about this transcript: There are three different ver-
sions of this episode. The original airing was a two-hour movie,
and it was re-shown in the United States as two hour-long episodes
with additional scenes. The European/Australian version has even
more scenes added in, and some scenes are in different places.
This transcript follows the European/Australian release as closely
as possible, since it is the most complete version.
The relative stillness of an early Metropolis morning wasbroken by a taxi that came tearing down the street. It made a wide U-turn, riding over the edge of the sidewalk and sending a few pedestrians scurrying out of the way, and came sharply to a stop in front of a landmark building with a large globe over the entrance, home to the Daily Planet, the greatest newspaper in the world.
A bearded young man wearing a woolen cap and carrying a video cassette emerged from the cab. He kicked the taxi's door shut and quickly headed inside the building.
Inside the newsroom it was still rather quiet, although not deserted. The man headed for a particular desk, where he shrugged off his jacket and got a pair of scissors. Reaching under the front of his shirt, he carefully snipped at, and began pulling out, strips of binding cloth, looking very glad to be freed from their tight restraint. He sighed in relief and wiggled his shoulders.
Jimmy Olsen, the paper's young copy boy and all-around gopher, approached the man. "You're in early," he commented. He inspected the man from different angles. "I like the beard... but the mustache isn't working for me," he teased. "Want me to do it?"
The bearded man nodded in resignation, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, preparing for the pain to come. Jimmy ripped off the false facial hair, revealing a lovely young woman. She triumphantly held up the videotape and two rolls of film.
"I nailed 'em, cold!"
"All right!" Jimmy congratulated. He took the evidence, and the young woman removed the woolen cap, fluffing up her shoulder length hair. It hadn't been easy, but she never backed down from a challenge and never took "no" for an answer.
*****
"Million Dollar Car Theft Ring Exposed" was the headline on the Daily Planet's morning edition the following day, an exclusive by Lois Lane. All the papers and television stations picked up the story quickly. "A stolen car ring was smashed by a brilliant raid..." a newscaster was reporting on the television screen in the newsroom.
Lois Lane had made a startling transformation from grubby, scruffy man to beautiful, professional woman, now wearing a sharply tailored suit and high heels, with her dark brown hair glossy and shining. She accepted the congratulations and admiration of her co-workers with modesty. "Oh come on, you guys, it was nothing, really," she said. A beaming smile that lit her brown eyes with a glow showed how pleased she was, nonetheless.
"I still can't believe they thought you were a boy," Jimmy Olsen said, shaking his head in wonder.
"Well, the mustache helped, and thanks for teaching me how to boost a car," she said to him.
Jimmy raised his coffee mug in a toast. "To Lois Lane, still going where no reporter has gone before!" he joked. The staff members clapped and laughed until the booming voice of the editor-in-chief cut through their ranks.
"Hey, hey, hey! Turn that thing off," Perry White instructed someone with a curt gesture to the television. "Now Jimmy, don't encourage her, she's got a head as big as the Metro Dome as it is!" he said gruffly, as he gave Lois that special smile he reserved just for her.
"Well it's nice to know I'm appreciated around here, Chief," she said saucily.
"What do you expect... garlands thrown at your feet?" he suggested with a wicked smile.
"No," she said with a quick laugh. "But I would like a raise."
"Well I'd like a 145 foot triple-masted schooner with a teak interior but hey, Lois..." He showed her the insides of his empty pockets. "Times are tough." The gathered staff members laughed, and Perry looked around at the party going on in his newsroom. "What's everybody standing around for? This is a newspaper, not Happy Hour at Buckingham Palace," he said firmly.
Jimmy followed his boss across the newsroom, eagerly trying to get his attention. "Chief, I got an angle on the mini-mall murders. Chief, I figure there was blood on the burritos because -- check this out -- they were eating, right, and the perpetrators come --"
Perry stopped at the door of his office and turned to face the enthusiastic boy. "Did you finish those obituary updates?"
Jimmy looked crestfallen that his boss wasn't interested in his idea. A murder was far more exciting than the obits. He wondered if Lois Lane had started off writing obituaries.
"Jimmy," Perry began, sounding each word out clearly, "never underestimate the need for a good obituary." With that, he went into his office and closed the door.
Jimmy turned away. "I can think of one right now," he muttered under his breath. He headed over to Lois's desk, angrily tossing down his notebook. She moved it from her work, making a face at him. Then he spied her pink message pad. "Whoa, I guess you've finally hit the big time!"
Lois, concentrating on her work, didn't look up. "Huh?"
"This time, Lex Luthor's personal assistant --" he began teasingly with a big grin, and as Lois jumped to reach the pad he danced back, trying to keep it from her. "-- returned your call," he finished in a rush as she snagged it from him. She looked at it in disappointment and crumpled it up. "Give it up, Lois," Jimmy said. "Luthor never gives one-on-one interviews."
Lois just looked at him. "Well, he's never met Lois Lane before, either," she said determinedly.
*****
Sirens wailed, people hurried across the street like a herd of sheep, cars honked their horns, and vendors shouted out their wares, as a clean-cut young man stepped off a bus. He set down his battered suitcase, embossed with the initials C.K. in gold, on the sidewalk to stop for a moment and survey the bustling city, breathing in the aroma of exhaust fumes and hot dogs. Inexplicably, he felt both like a stranger and as though he had found a home, especially when he saw the immense Daily Planet globe.
Suddenly an insistent honking drew his attention. A city bus was careening down the avenue, out of control! The traffic light had just turned red, and the throng on the sidewalk began pouring onto the pedestrian crossing without looking. The runaway bus would mow them down!
He didn't know what to do, but he knew he had to do something or people would get hurt. Abandoning his suitcase, he swiftly ran into the street, right in front of the oncoming bus. He caught a glimpse of the driver's horror-stricken eyes as he held his hand out and braced himself for impact.
The bus came to an abrupt halt, throwing its passengers forward violently. The young man looked around fearfully, hoping that no one had seen what he had done. A woman standing close to him, who would have been in the direct path of the bus if it hadn't been stopped, stared at him in stunned disbelief. "He... he..." she stuttered, pointing at him and trying to get someone's attention.
The young man looked around anxiously, afraid that in averting a disaster he had revealed himself as someone extraordinary, but no one was paying attention to her, and no one else seemed to have seen anything. His heart pounding, he darted back to the sidewalk, grabbed his suitcase -- which was miraculously still there -- and melted into the crowd of pedestrians, hoping to disappear in their midst. No one came after him, no one paid him any attention at all, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
The woman on the street stared in shock at the imprint of a hand, imbedded perhaps an inch into the steel of the bus's grillwork.
*****
A middle-aged man wearing ragged and mismatched clothes came out of the elevator and into the Daily Planet newsroom. He was filthy, and he smelled of sweat and dirt and other things no one wanted to try to identify. He looked around the busy newsroom for someone. "Lois Lane? Lois Lane?" the man repeated in an urgent tone as he weaved his way past people and down the stairs to the pit, his eyes roving around the room. Seated at her desk, Lois heard her name called, and she looked up for the source of the disturbance. "Lois Lane!" he shouted as he spotted her. He brandished a paper-wrapped parcel in one hand. "It's going to explode!" he yelled to her. Lois's brown eyes widened, startled, as she stood up.
"He's got a bomb!" someone cried out in alarm.
"It's not a bomb," Jimmy derided.
"It's my credentials," the man announced around him. Two security guards from the lobby caught up with him at that point, taking him by the arms, but the man's momentum carried him to Lois.
"I'm sorry, sir," one of the guards said to the chief editor, who was emerging from his office to see what the commotion was. "He ran right past me."
"You don't understand," the man said urgently, handing the parcel to Lois. "Miss Lane, the Messenger is going to explode! Please, Miss Lane, you must tell my story!"
"We've had trouble with him before," the guard said, beginning to haul him away firmly.
"No, please!" the man cried helplessly, "You've got to believe me!"
"No, wait a minute, don't!" Lois called out to the security guards, wanting to hear more. There was something in the man's desperate eyes that urged her to find out more.
"He's just a box short of a variety pack," the guard explained, paying no attention to her.
"Please, the space program is doomed!" Still crying out his pleas, the man was hustled out of the newsroom by the guards. Lois looked down at the package in her hands with a slight frown, wondering what was in it. Whoever he was, the man had fervently believed what he was telling her.
A short while later Lois was sitting at her desk, now covered by the contents of the package -- lots of crumpled pieces of paper that she had been trying to flatten out. They were different sizes and colors, with notes scribbled on them. Her attention was diverted, however, when she heard the Messenger mentioned on the television set nearby. She turned to watch with interest.
Gloria Campos was reporting for Lex*Tel Communications News. "The transport vehicle Messenger, piloted by Commander Jack Latterman and carrying the final propulsion module for Space Station Prometheus, is scheduled for lift-off Friday at 9:00 a.m. Dr. Toni Baines reminds us that timing is crucial."
The scene shifted to show the young blonde woman so central to the space program. "Unless all the modules are in place within the next few weeks, Space Station Prometheus will lose its orbit and fall back into the Earth's atmosphere. That kind of an occurrence will surely spell the end to any future projects, and the space program as a whole."
The newscaster's voice then explained, "A series of delays and launch failures have already put EPRAD's back to the wall."
Lois looked at the papers on her desk. If that crazy-looking man had been telling the truth, if the Messenger had been sabotaged and was doomed to explode, then the entire space program was in jeopardy!
As she turned, some of the papers slid to the floor. With a sigh she got down on her hands and knees to retrieve them from under her desk.
Catherine Grant sailed into the newsroom, her luxurious coat dangling languorously from one hand. As usual, she was dressed in outrageous attire, revealing plenty of tanned, toned skin. "Morning, Lois," she said smoothly, her voice a deep, rich timbre. "On your hands and knees again, I see."
Lois collected the last of the papers and stood up, grimacing at the typical jibe. Cat Grant never missed a chance to put her down, but as always, she fired off a return volley. "Isn't it a bit early for you to be in, Cat? I thought ladies like you only work nights."
Cat laughed. "Part of my job as society columnist..."
"Mud-slinging rumor monger," Lois interjected tightly.
"... is to maintain an active social life." Cat paused. "You remember what's that like... or do you?" With a contemptuous laugh she departed, managing to slap Lois's face lightly with the sleeve of her fur coat.
Lois shook her head slightly, grimacing. She had worked hard to become a top investigative journalist, to be seen as an equal to her male colleagues, and she believed that women like Cat, who flaunted their sexuality and used it to their advantage, just made things harder for women who would rather use their brains than their bodies.
Jimmy came up behind her, watching Cat.
"What do men see in her anyway?" Lois asked grumpily. "Don't they know she's just looking for another notch on her garter belt?"
Jimmy was quick to agree. "Pathetic!" Then a considering look crossed his face. "Have you actually *seen* this garter belt?"
Lois gave him a disgusted look as she turned to him and smacked his chest.
*****
The young man who had stopped the bus with one hand crossed the street and stared up at the famous globe hanging over the entrance of the corner building, reading the name "Daily Planet" wrapped around it in neon blue lettering. He was here! He was lucky that his connections had landed him an interview with the Editor-in-Chief, Perry White. There was no time to stand on the sidewalk, gawking at the massive iron globe like a tourist; he didn't want to be late. He took a deep breath, and carried his
suitcase inside to ask for directions to Mr. White's office.
Mr. White seemed a little less organized and efficient than the young man had expected. In fact, he seemed rather distracted as he rifled through the loose sheets of paper that covered his desk. "So you are Mister, uh..."
"Kent, Clark Kent," the young man supplied quickly.
Perry White found the resume he had received. "Ah yes, Kent. Oh, Professor Carlton called me about you; boy, I haven't seen him in I don't know... Let's see here," he suddenly said, remembering the purpose of the appointment and trying to bring himself back to the matter at hand. "Editor, Smallville Press," he read slowly, his smile faltering. He'd never heard of Smallville. "Where is that, that's in...?"
"Kansas."
"Kansas," the chief repeated, trying to keep his voice neutral. The phone rang with a shrill, insistent sound. "Oh, just a minute please," he apologized as he reached out and grabbed the receiver. "Yeah... Oh, tell him to keep his pants on! If Carlini's can't deliver on time, just find a place who can!" he ended up hollering into the mouthpiece before slamming it down. "Would you believe I had to buy a blood pressure monitor last week?" he asked Clark as he laid two fingers against the side of his neck and looked at his watch.
"Paava leaves," Clark offered.
"I beg your pardon?" Perry asked blankly.
"The Yolngu tribe in New Guinea eat paava leaves to relieve stress, it puts them in a meditative state. Maybe you should try it," he suggested helpfully. A woman entered the office and laid some papers on Perry's cluttered desk, leaving silently.
"Oh, well, I see you've done some traveling," Perry observed, not quite sure what to make of that information. Eat leaves? Was the boy serious?
"Well, this is my first trip to Metropolis," Clark clarified. "I have some samples of my work," he remembered, bringing some papers out of his satchel.
"Oh good, good, let's take a look," the editor said agreeably as he accepted them. He liked this young man's honest face. "The Borneo Gazette," he read slowly, getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Mating rituals of the knob-tailed gecko?" With a sigh he faced the clean-cut young man with the hopeful eyes, trying to find a gentle way of breaking it to him. "Kent, I'm sure that these are fascinating stories, but you see, son, this is the Daily Planet! We're the greatest newspaper in the whole world! Now our people are dedicated servants of the Fourth Estate who routinely handle matters of international significance."
He was interrupted by a dark-haired young man who burst through the office door. "All right, Chief, I fixed the horn on your golf cart," he announced happily.
"Not now, Jimmy," Perry said abruptly.
"The tone's still off," the lad continued apologetically.
"Jimmy, not now!" Perry shouted. Jimmy didn't waste any time leaving. "Now, as I was, uh, saying, you just can't walk in here and expect..."
He was interrupted again when a young woman burst in through the door behind his desk, calling to him before she'd even entered the room. "Chief! I think there's a story here and we should have this guy checked out, you know, the crazy one from this morning? He was an engineer at EPRAD for ten years..."
"Lois!" the chief exploded. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something here?" he asked plaintively. Clark rose to his feet politely to meet the woman, intrigued by the fire in her eyes and the intensity of her manner.
"Oh," she said, not sounding in the least apologetic. She barely afforded Clark a glance before turning expectantly to her editor and waiting impatiently.
"Lois Lane, Clark Kent," Perry introduced.
"Nice to meet you," she said, sparing him another brief glance without really seeing him. She turned immediately back to her editor. "Anyway, he worked on the Messenger..."
Clark closed his mouth, his polite words of greeting having been totally sideswiped by her rapid-fire words to Perry White, and used the hand he had extended to Lois to adjust his glasses instead. He was taken aback by her brusque rudeness and yet he admired the dedication she obviously had for her work.
"Wait, wait, wait a minute!" Perry interrupted, holding a hand up to stop any more words from spilling out. "What happened to that mood piece I gave you about the razing of that old theater on Forty-second Street?"
"I wasn't in the mood," she said with a touch of sarcasm.
"You weren't in the mood," he repeated in disgust. "Now look, Lois, you can't come in here and tell me you're not in the..."
The young woman was no longer paying attention, and Clark saw the golf-cart fixer making urgent faces at the glass window of Perry's door, pantomiming a phone call. "I gotta go, I'll catch you later!" she told her boss, drowning out his tirade as she swept out of the office like a tornado of energy.
"I tell you, if that woman wasn't the best damned investigative reporter I've ever seen, I...!" Perry put his fingers against the pulse point in his neck again, sure that the stress of his job would give him a stroke one day. Then he remembered what he had been discussing before the interruptions: the Borneo Gazette article this nice young man had written. "Look, Kent, I'm sure that you're an intelligent guy, but you just can't walk in here with this kind of resume and expect to get a job."
"Mr. White, I know I lack experience," Clark said earnestly, "but I'm a good writer --"
"Kent," Perry interrupted.
"-- and a hard worker, and I --"
"Kent," Perry interrupted again, regretfully but firmly. "I just don't have anything for you, son."
Clark's face fell. "Well thank you, sir, I appreciate you taking the time to see me," he said politely, realizing dejectedly that he should not have expected his modest success in small circles to translate into opportunity in the big city of Metropolis.
"Okay," Perry said with a friendly smile.
Clark shook the man's hand, picked up his satchel, and walked slowly out of the office.
Perry smiled until Clark had turned away, and then stared at his throbbing hand with a grimace and a whimper of pain, holding it away from his body. Then he looked in the direction the young man had gone, his eyes wide.
*****
Clark found a room at the Hotel Apollo. It was a seedy dive, but it was all he could afford until he got a job. He put his suitcase down in the rather bare room, looking around at the grimy walls, the cheap furnishings, and the pay phone on the wall. From the room next door came the sound of rock music playing loudly. It wasn't much of a home.
Home. He closed his eyes, and the word conjured up the knitted afghans his great aunt had made for his bed, the collection of photos on the mantle, the smell of something delicious to eat, and all the love and warmth that made a house a home.
He got out a quarter to call his parents. Hearing their voices always cheered him up, and after that disappointing interview he sure needed cheering!
"You want me to wire you some cash?" his dad offered right away.
"No, I'm fine," Clark said half-heartedly, wondering how long he was going to be able to afford to stay at this crummy hotel while he looked for a job.
"How'd the interview go?" Martha Kent asked eagerly.
"Not so good, but something'll turn up, I'm sure," Clark said into the phone, not feeling at all sure and not sounding at all convincing.
"Nyeah, I think I should wire you some cash," Jonathan put in.
"I'm fine, Dad."
"You're still going to make it home on Friday?" his mom asked.
"What, and miss your home cooking?" Clark asked with forced cheer.
"What home cooking?" Jonathan snorted. "I haven't had a homecooked meal in..."
"Clark, you're being careful, aren't you?" his mother asked into her phone, cutting off her husband's complaint.
"Sure, other than the bus incident this morning, but that --"
"Bus incident? Clark..." his mother began, her happy smile vanishing.
"Metropolis isn't the Outback, you know," his father warned, ignoring his wife's glare. "People in the city are always looking to make a quick buck. If they find out about you, they'll put you in a laboratory, and..."
Clark finished the familiar refrain in a chorus. "... 'dissect you like a frog.' I know, Dad. Believe me, I'm trying my best to be like everybody else here."
"Well, I'll get that cash out to you tonight," his dad told him.
"Dad..." Clark stopped his automatic refusal as he realized that he needed the money, and that his father would feel better if he accepted it. "I'll pay you back, I promise. Okay, I'll talk to you guys soon."
"Bye, honey," his mom said gently, giving her husband a slightly sad smile.
Clark hung up slowly, feeling a pang of loneliness... that lifelong companion of his.
Intending to look in the classified section for another job opportunity, Clark had gotten a copy of the Daily Planet. He lay down on the bed, reading an article about Russia on the front page, putting off his task. It was a great paper, and he had really wanted to work there.
The light above his bed, a bare bulb on the ceiling, flicker-
ed and buzzed annoyingly, distracting him. With a frown he tossed
the newspaper aside and, with no sign of effort, he willed himself
to levitate, floating gently upwards to the ceiling. He was still
stretched out horizontally, looking for all the world as though he
were still laying on the bed.
As he neared the light he reached out and touched it with his
bare hand. Unheeding of the temperature of the bulb, he gave it a
turn to tighten it. The flickering stopped, and he hovered there
for a moment, testing it cautiously with a gentle tap. Satisfied,
he slowly floated back down to the bed.
He lay on the narrow, springy matress, staring at the grubby ceiling, unwilling to pick up the paper again and start job hunting. He had been so excited by the prospect of working at the Daily Planet! Now his hopes had been ground to dust, and these strange powers of his were of no use to him. Sure, he could float up to the ceiling, but could he get a job? A regular job like any regular guy?
Getting up, Clark began to pace restlessly across the small room. Two steps, and he was at the wall. He checked the pay phone to see if his quarter had miraculously passed into the coin return slot, then turned and paced to the opposite wall. Two more steps and he was at the phone again. This time, instead of turning around, he placed his foot on the wall and walking right up it to the ceiling!
He tried to "stand" still for a moment, with his feet on the wall and his back resting against the ceiling, but his nervous tension needed an outlet. He paced down a few feet, then returned to the ceiling. He gave the light bulb another gentle twist, but it wasn't misbehaving anymore. He walked back down the wall, smoothly making the ninety degree transition to the floor. He threw himself down on the small bed with a deep sigh and drummed his fingers on his pillow.
He was almost out of money, he was staying in a miserable hole, his hopes for working at the world famous Daily Planet had been utterly crushed, and he was beginning to think he ought to just return home to Smallville and ask for his old job back.
Admit to everyone that he couldn't make it in the big city.
Admit to himself that, despite having awesome powers, he just couldn't cut it in the real world.
He didn't want to give up his dream. He liked what he had seen of Metropolis so far; the bustle and excitement and constant activity. He would just have to get a job somewhere else.
*****
Each of the four locks turned one at a time, and Lois entered her apartment, an elegant home tastefully decorated with fine furnishings. She juggled a bag of groceries and her keys, her handbag and her satchel like an expert city dweller. "Lucy?" she called. "Are you home?"
"Hi sis!" came a bright voice from the bedroom. Lois's younger sister, who was staying with her for a while, came into the kitchen in her bathrobe as Lois set the grocery bag down on the counter. "I thought you were going out tonight," she said in surprise, looking inside the bag.
"Oh, I gotta work, I can't. Don't start!" she warned over her shoulder as she went to put her handbag and satchel down on the sofa.
"Did you find an escort to Lex Luthor's White Orchid Ball yet?" Lucy asked, following her into the living room area.
"No, I did not," Lois said clearly, feeling that she'd had quite enough of this old conversation already.
"Lois, it's tomorrow night!" Lucy reminded her unnecessarily. "What about Mitchell? I thought you liked him."
"Mitchell is a hypochondriac," Lois pronounced, taking some files from her satchel and trying to escape into the kitchen.
Lucy followed her. "They can't all be bad, Lois. They can't all be boring or stupid. What are you waiting for?"
"Fine. I'll ask Mitchell to take me," she said as she pulled a frozen dinner out of the grocery bag.
"I'm not just talking about the Ball, Lois. You've got to get out more," Lucy insisted.
Lois groaned. "Will you stop?" she demanded, with the cardboard end of the box clenched between her teeth. "Geez, you sound like Dad! I'm only twenty-six!" She popped the frozen dinner into the microwave.
"Twenty-six today, thirty-six tomorrow," Lucy warned ominously, following Lois again as she took a folder from the kitchen back to the sofa. "And I know why that dentist, Alan, never called you back; dragging him to the Women In Journalism seminar, 'Weak Men And The Wise Women Who Love Them'. You've got to stop scaring them off, Lois!" She grabbed the folder from her sister's hand to get her attention, to make her listen. "You've got to stop being so smart all the time, so intense!"
Lois looked at her sister. "Look, I'm just being myself, and if they're not man enough to handle it, then I guess I'll just have to wait 'til I find someone who is." Lois Lane was not about to hold back merely to entice a man.
"I just hate to see you sitting at home," Lucy replied almost sadly, cutting off her sister's tirade.
"I get out plenty, I have dates," Lois said defensively.
"You have interviews," Lucy corrected gently. "It's not the same thing." Lois opened her mouth to refute that, but she realized that her sister had a point. "Lois... I just want you to meet a super guy."
Lois couldn't remain irritated when she saw her sister's sweet, hopeful face. Deep down inside, she too wanted to meet a super guy. She dreamed of romantic walks on the beach, of candlelit dinners and slow dancing in Mr. Right's strong arms. Experience had taught her, though, that reality didn't work that way, and she wasn't convinced that super guys still existed. If they did, she was willing to bet that they had all been taken, or were gay, or would want nothing to do with a woman like her.
Later that night Lois was sitting in bed propped up against her pillows and snuggled under her comforter, reading some papers with a pair of glasses on. Yawning, she threw the papers down, took off her glasses, and picked up the remote control. She was in the mood to watch one of her favorite tapes, The Ivory Tower. She fast-forwarded through the credits, and munched on some popcorn as she watched.
"Gwendolyn, have you made your decision?" a dark-haired man asked on the screen.
Although she knew it by heart, Lois felt herself getting caught up in the story.
The pretty blonde tossed her wavy hair. "All right, you win," she replied almost defiantly. "I'll keep my promise. Tonight my body is yours. But my heart... my heart beats only for one man," she finished in grand melodramatic fashion.
"Oh!" Lois wailed softly, hugging the comforter to her and beginning to cry. Why couldn't *she* feel that kind of passion? Would she ever find her one true love? As the dark man began to nibble on Gwendolyn's neck, Lois pulled a tissue from beside the bed. With a little whimpering sound she wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and sniffled.
The Ivory Tower always had that effect on her.
*****
Forty-second Street was crowded when Clark arrived there early the next morning, looking around tentatively. During the night he had remembered the mood piece about the demolition of a theater on Forty-second Street that Perry White had assigned to that woman who had barged into the office during his job interview, the sassy one who hadn't been in the mood. It had occurred to him then that some of his best work had been mood pieces. If he could find the theater that was being torn down, he could write a piece about it and take it to Mr. White. Perhaps the man would at least want to use it.
It wasn't hard to locate the theater that was being razed. Construction workers with hard hats were coming in and out of the old Sarah Bernhardt Theater, setting up equipment and maneuvering a wrecking ball into place. A small but determined group of protesters, all of them rather elderly, stomped around waving their placards and chanting, "Keep the theater on the spot, we don't need a parking lot!"
An old lady wandered around, searching worriedly. "Where's Beatrice? Bea? Bea?"
Clark took a quick look around him, but no one was paying attention to him with all the ruckus going on. He lowered his glasses and looked over the top of them, at the brick wall of the decrepit theater... then looked right through it. A woman stood on the stage, a feather boa around her neck and an enormous floppy hat on her head, surrounded by debris: fallen-down columns, empty seats, old props and racks of costumes all over the stage.
"After the dark death of autumn, and the cold barren winter, how I wish this rock might be taken from my heart," she cried out, her voice strong and clear, echoing slightly in the cavernous interior.
"Okay, Bill, start her up!" a loud voice shouted near Clark, distracting him. He saw that the construction workers were ready to begin razing the theater now. He glanced around again, then stared intently at the machine, his glasses once again lowered. He looked through the outer casing to the motor, and just as it started he used his heat vision to burn through some of the wiring, short circuiting it. The protesters cheered madly when the engine failed, although it was only a brief respite from the inevitable.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Clark adjusted his glasses and slipped inside the old theater.
The woman on the stage didn't see him at first, and he watched for a moment, listening to the heartfelt passion in her voice. "Oh, for the days of my childhood, back when my soul was pure. I slept right here in this nursery, looking out at the orchard from this very room, and every morning I awoke with such joy in my heart. My orchard is just the same as it was then. Nothing is different. All of it, all of it, dressed in white. My lovely orchard."
Clark felt it only right to applaud the actress, his claps echoing strangely and drawing her attention as he had meant to.
"Who's there?"
"Just... a fan."
"I'm not leaving," she told him. "Not until I finish."
He grinned. "All right. Do you mind if I watch? I always loved this play."
"You know it?" she asked.
"The Cherry Orchard. Anton Chekhov."
She looked pleased that he knew it, that she could share her passion with someone who appreciated it. "His finest, don't you think?"
"Definitely," he agreed with a gentle half-smile.
She smiled back at him wistfully. "They don't understand. Theater is more than bricks and mortar." She looked around the cavernous hall, seeing more than old age and decay. "It's drama and passion, and mystery and comedy and life!" She looked at him yearningly. "Don't make me go. I'm not ready."
"We have some time," he assured her.
"You understand. I just want to say good-bye."
Clark knew that he'd found an angle for his piece. He watched and listened as she lifted her face to the back row again.
"...all of it dressed in white. My lovely orchard."
Later, back in his hotel room, Clark gathered together his research and the notes he had taken in his interview with Beatrice, the actress at the theater, and sat down at his laptop. He typed away rapidly, fingers flying over the keys as the words poured out of him. The poor machine struggled valiantly to keep up with him, but it wasn't long before it began beeping pathetically, issuing smoke. Impatiently he fanned at it with his jacket.
When he was finished, Clark read over his piece, feeling a deep satisfaction. "Beatrice was eighteen when she made her debut. Warren G. Harding was President, the Unknown Soldier was interred at Arlington, and Babe Ruth was sold to the Yankees..."
A little later, Perry finished reading it in his office, his southern accent caressing the final words. "... She came to say good-bye, as we all must, to the past, and to a life and a place that soon would exist only in a bittersweet memory." He smiled broadly at Clark.
"Smooth," Jimmy said admiringly.
Lois had listened, spellbound, with her head resting against the door, letting the words flow through her. Somehow this nobody from the middle of nowhere had managed to slip through her tough exterior, her shell of indifference, and made her care about the changing of times, the inevitable passing of everyone and everything. He had evoked memories of her childhood, those innocent years before she'd understood the bitterness in her mother's eyes, before she'd come to understand that no matter how well she did, it would never be good enough in her father's eyes. She had said good-bye to that life when her parents separated, and it was, indeed, only bittersweet memory now.
The sound of Jimmy's voice roused Lois from the spell Clark's words had woven around her, reminded her that she was standing in the Chief's office, and she hastily straightened up. She didn't want anyone to know that the piece had touched something deep within her. "Uh, yeah, if you like that sort of thing," she said disparagingly, hoping to sound blase.
"You know, Kent, there's only one attribute I value more than experience, and that's initiative." Perry White looked him straight in the eyes. "Clark Kent, welcome to the Daily Planet!" He extended his hand to Clark, who took it in delight. Then Perry remembered the last handshake he'd had with this boy and said, "Oops!" He clasped Clark's wrist with his free hand so that he could extricate his right hand from the young man's grip, and patted Clark's hand instead of shaking it.
Clark's moment of triumph was immediately interrupted, though, when the office door was flung open.
"The space shuttle's on fire!" a staff member cried out in distress.
"Lois, get over here!" someone else shouted.
"Turn it up!"
"Let's take a look," Perry said, including Clark in the group. They headed into the newsroom and joined the crowd gathering around the television monitor. The shuttle Messenger was still on the launch pad, its rockets flaring and spitting out fire.
"... this fast breaking story, we have a reporter on the scene and we're trying to establish contact with her. Carmen Alvarado, can you hear me? She's on the launching pad right now. Carmen?"
Just then the Messenger exploded into a terrible fireball.
The reporter on the scene, looking stunned, spoke directly into the camera. "Wesley, you've just seen what we've seen here, a terrible tragedy is unfolding, there seems to be something..."
Lois gazed at the fiery scene, stricken. "I knew there was something to Platt's story, I knew it," she said.
"Now, Lois, just because one madman's prediction came true doesn't mean that there's a conspiracy to sabotage the entire space program," Perry said reasonably.
"But with more than a hundred colonists going up on the next launch, are you willing to take that chance?" she asked him.
Clark saw how affected she was by the tragedy, and her determination to investigate the story, and admired her for it. Here was a woman who cared! Perry saw it too, and he knew that if there was anything to this engineer's story about sabotage, Lois Lane would dig up the truth.
In Perry's office, Lois laid out her game plan. "I'll need a task force, I can't cover this story alone."
"You can have Jimmy," Perry offered.
"Chief," Lois said dryly, "we're talking about the space program!"
"Okay, take Kent."
"Kent?" she repeated incredulously.
"Kent," he confirmed impatiently.
"What about Myerson?" she asked hopefully.
"He's busy."
"Burns?" she tried, desperately.
"Budapest."
"Forget Kent," she declared.
"Uh-uh," he said firmly. "He's a good man.
"Kent is a hack from Smallville, I couldn't make that name up!" she snorted.
"Kent, or nobody."
Recognizing the steely glint in Perry's eyes, and the finality in his voice, she gave in with bad grace. "Fine. Don't ever say that I'm not a team player." She turned on her heel and stalked out of the editor's office.
"Let's hit it," she told Kent, swatting his arm briskly as she strode purposefully towards her desk.
Clark, after a moment's surprised hesitation, put down the papers he was holding and hurried to catch up to her. "Mind if I ask where we're going?"
"To interview Samuel Platt. He's convinced the Messenger was sabotaged; I'll brief you on the way." Lois grabbed her coat and bag from her desk, and Clark quickly grabbed his jacket to keep up with her. "And let's get something straight, I did not work my buns off to become an investigative reporter for the Daily Planet just to baby-sit some hack from Nowheresville! And one other thing," she said without pausing for a breath, as she stopped on the stairs that led up from the pit of the newsroom to the elevators and whirled to face him, "you are not working with me, you are working *for* me. I call the shots, I ask the questions." She began to walk towards the elevators again, still laying down the law. "You are low man, I am top banana, and that's the way I like it. Comprende?" she asked over her shoulder.
"You like to be on top, got it," he returned clearly, looking straight forward at the elevator's impassive doors and not meeting her eyes.
Lois glared at him venomously. "Don't push me, Kent, you are *way* out of your league." The doors opened and she stalked into the elevator. Clark followed her in and took up a position just behind her right shoulder, safely out of her sight, able at last to allow the broad grin he had been witholding to light up his face. He was delighted to be working with Lois, confident he could quickly improve her low opinion of him. In the meantime, though, if she pushed, he intended to push back.
They took a cab to the address Lois had for Dr. Samuel Platt. The condemned building was dark, dirty, and dank, and they had to duck under police tape to get inside. A rat scurried away from Lois as she walked purposefully to the only door within and banged on it. "Dr. Platt?" she called out, seeming completely unfazed by her surroundings. "Dr. Platt, it's Lois Lane."
The door opened a fraction, and a wild-eyed, terrified face peered out. Dr. Platt held a crowbar, as though expecting his visitors to be dangerous, but he lowered it when he saw Lois, and opened the door wider to admit them.
As he led them inside, Dr. Platt began to ramble about his circumstances. "And they said that I was crazy, but wouldn't you be after the drugs? I mean, you know, they drugged me after I submitted my report to Dr. Baines."
Lois looked around at the total disarray, then focused her attention on interviewing the scientist. "Dr. Platt, how could the Messenger have been sabotaged? In order to bypass the security, you... unless the orders came from high up."
The engineer attempted to explain things more clearly. "Well, you see, under extreme temperature conditions the particle isolators were in danger of shutting down, so in order to prevent this we installed heating devices. But when I broke into one of the off-limit labs, I discovered that the heating devices had been replaced... by coolant systems." He stared at Lois meaningfully.
"To freeze the ion particles?" Clark added questioningly, wanting to make sure he was following this correctly. He had been wandering around the room, taking in his surroundings, listening intently without interruption, letting Lois ask the questions.
"Of course," Dr. Platt said quickly, turning to him, delighted by his comprehension. Lois shot Clark a surprised look. Did this farm boy actually understand this? "And emit fumes, and the Messenger would blow up. I mean, it's all in my report."
"What report?" Lois asked him, trying to steer control of this interview back into her hands.
"Well, the report that I gave to Dr. Baines."
"Do you have a copy of this report?" she asked.
"Ha! What kind of scientist would I be if I didn't keep reports?" He began rummaging violently around, searching the overflowing bookshelves, behind the fish mounted on the wall above them, and inside a child's tennis shoe, pulling out one crumpled piece of paper after another.
Lois exchanged a glance with Clark, not very hopeful. "Ah, Dr. Platt, perhaps you could gather your report together some other time, I'll have somebody come by and pick it up." Idly she picked up a photograph from the clutter covering the desk, taken in better times. The clean-cut, smiling man was Dr. Platt, and with him were an attractive woman and a laughing child.
Dr. Platt saw her. "My wife," he explained. "We'd planned to live together on the Prometheus," he added sadly.
"Where's your family now?"
"Gone. They left when... Well, it's all for the best," he finished gruffly.
Lois's face softened. "Dr. Platt, who would want to sabotage Space Station Prometheus?" she asked gently.
"I don't know. See, the microgravity laboratory on the Prometheus could be the key for curing hundreds of diseases here on Earth," he explained earnestly. "In a zero-gravity environment we can actually separate the proteins that form viruses. So many children with crippling diseases..." His voice trailed off as his eyes drifted to the photograph in Lois's hands. "... my daughter," he added, his voice a haggard whisper. "We could cure them!" He raised soulful, sad eyes to the young reporters.
"I think you and I should pay Dr. Baines a visit," Lois said quietly to Clark, giving the tired engineer a sympathetic look. They left him alone with his sorrows and his crowbar, and drove one of the Daily Planet vans to EPRAD, where they managed to meet with Dr. Antoinette Baines. She was a beautiful but hard-looking woman with glittering eyes and an air of sorrow.
"Naturally we're all still in a state of shock. I don't suppose I have to tell you what a catastrophe this explosion was. Captain Latterman was one of our best. His three kids, his wife Anna..."
"Dr. Baines, what's being done to investigate the cause of the explosion?" Lois asked, all business.
"Well, we won't know anything until we've examined the burned wreckage. We're in the process of moving it to a hangar right now for inspection."
"Can we take a look at it?"
"Sorry, no press allowed."
"No exceptions?" Clark asked, looking directly at her.
Dr. Baines looked into his warm brown eyes. Then she gave him an appraising glance from head to toe. She obviously liked what she saw, for she smiled and amended her hard line. "I'll see what I can do."
"Great," Clark said, flashing Dr. Baines a quick smile. If a little extra friendliness gained them an advantage, he figured it wouldn't hurt.
Lois tried to keep from rolling her eyes. Didn't the woman have any professionalism? "On the subject of Dr. Samuel Platt..."
"Oh, I have his file right here," Dr. Baines said immediately, turning and getting it. She referred to its contents without offering to show it to them. "A real waste of talent. Seems building the space station and his divorce finally got to him. He started drinking, taking drugs... He went from bad to worse. We kept him on as long as we could, but when he set fire to one of the laboratories we had to let him go." She set the file down as though that ended the subject.
Lois had one more question. "Dr. Platt said that he submitted a report to you, something about coolant devices installed to --"
"Coolants," Baines cut her off, appearing to think hard for a moment. "No, I don't recall any report. I could check my records," she offered.
"Could you? And, give us a call?" Lois produced a business card and handed it to Dr. Baines.
"Certainly. I'd be glad to help." She eyed Clark once more, and her voice softened as she added to him, "Let me know if I can be of any further assistance."
"Thank you," he acknowledged with another smile.
A few minutes later, Lois and Clark were walking back towards the van.
"She seemed cooperative," Clark said to break the silence.
"I don't trust her," Lois said.
"Very attractive," Clark added. "Young, for a woman in her position."
"Typical!" she said in disgust.
"What?"
"That's a typical male response," she said scathingly.
"Lois, trust me on this, I am *not* a typical male," Clark assured her, amused.
"No? Just because she's... okay looking..."
"She's *very* okay!" he interjected with a grin, enjoying the way he was getting a rise out of her.
"... you automatically assume she's telling the truth?" Lois ended.
"That's pretty cynical, Lois."
"It's realistic, Clark. At least I don't go through life disappointed."
He spent the rest of the trip back to the newsroom wondering what had happened to Lois Lane to make her so hard on the outside, and wondering what she was really like on the inside.
Once back at the Daily Planet, Perry assigned Jimmy Olsen to show Clark around the newsroom. "We have different sections, just like the paper has different sections," Jimmy explained. "Society, Sports, Entertainment... Come here." Clark obediently followed him around, wondering how long it would take for all this bustle to become familiar, wondering if he would ever feel a part of the team.
Cat Grant, who was at the coffee pot with Lois, let out a low wolf whistle appreciatively as she watched the handsome, dark-haired young man following Jimmy around. "Who's the new tight end?" she asked in a throaty voice.
Lois grimaced. "Why don't you throw your usual forward pass and find out?" she asked in withering tones, putting a teaspoon of honey into her coffee.
Deciding that it would be a good place to start, Cat shimmied out of her Toledo jacket and adjusted the bizarre red and black outfit she wore underneath. Lois eyed the tacky outfit disdainfully; Cat had a seemingly never-ending supply of outrageous clothes, all of them designed to display a lot of the body she worked hard to keep toned and tanned. Lois wouldn't be caught dead in any of them, preferring unobtrusive colors and businesslike suits. She took her coffee and went to get a file from one of the nearby cabinets.
Cat scrubbed her teeth with a finger and pinched her cheeks to bring color to them before turning to block Clark's way as he approached the coffee pot.
"Ah, excuse me," Clark said politely, gesturing to the coffee behind her.
"Catherine Grant," she introduced in a deep, throaty voice. "'Cat's Corner'." She held out a hand to be kissed.
"Oh yeah, I've read your column." He held her hand awkwardly for a moment before releasing it.
"Oh, then my reputation precedes me," she purred, pleased.
"Among other things," Lois muttered from the file cabinet nearby, where she was unobtrusively listening and watching the exchange.
Ignoring that, Cat began to stroke Clark's tie. "You know, I know what it's like to be new in town... Lonely... I'd be happy to show you around."
"Ah, that's very nice of you, Miss Grant," Clark said slowly, flattered by the attentions of this exotic creature, but not really wanting to encourage the way she was fondling his tie.
"Cat!" she told him, almost hissing in a rather feline manner.
"Cat!" he repeated with the same ferocious inflection, not sure whether to be amused or alarmed. "Um, maybe when I get settled in," he suggested noncomitally.
She patted his shoulder before starting to slink away, with her jacket dangling languidly from one hand. She paused beside Lois to turn and look at him provocatively over her shoulder and tell him, "It's a date."
Lois rolled her eyes, closed the cabinet drawer rather loudly, and took her coffee to her desk.
Clark poured himself a cup of coffee. He was amused by Lois's reactions to the gossip columnist, but had the uncomfortable sensation that Miss Grant had designated him as her next prey. "Cat!" he hissed again, quietly, and grinned. There weren't too many people like her in Smallville!
*****
Clark went to his desk, took off his jacket, and sat down. Lois was at her nearby desk in the middle of a phone call, and he idly listened in to her conversation, fiddling with a pencil to make it look as though he was doing something.
"No, Mitchell," she was saying in a resigned tone, "I'm not mad. If you've got the sniffles then you've got the sniffles... Yeah, that could lead to complications," she agreed listlessly into the phone while looking through her address book. "No, don't call me, I'll call you."
Lois hung up, knowing that she'd never call him again. Whoever heard of canceling plans to attend Lex Luthor's White Orchid Ball because of sniffles? Now what was she going to do? The Ball was that evening; how was she going to find another escort at the last minute? She couldn't go alone. She'd never hear the end of it! Feeling glum, she looked around the newsroom.
Clark quickly pulled the phone book to him and opened it to the first page, hoping to look as though he'd been busily absorbed in some task. Belatedly he realized that Lois would probably find it suspicious that he was looking at the 911 instructions, so he began turning pages as though searching for something.
Lois's eyes lit on the newcomer, Clark Kent, working at his desk. She paused, eyeing him thoughtfully. He was new in town and he probably didn't know anyone, so he might not have plans for this evening. She could ask him. He wasn't exactly sophisticated, but...
No, that was a crazy idea!
Then again, she was desperate, and she could make sure he understood that this was a black tie affair, so that he wouldn't embarrass her by showing up in jeans and a flannel shirt.
She stood up, paused for a moment, then walked irresolutely over to his desk, sighing heavily. "I don't suppose you own a tuxedo," she said negatively.
"I could get one," he said, looking up at her expectantly. He knew what she was going to ask, and he was looking forward to hearing it. "Why?" he asked, feigning innocence.
"Oh, well, the man that I was going to Lex Luthor's Ball with has the flu," she explained lightly, perhaps exaggerating Mitchell's condition a little, smiling in a manner that showed it didn't matter to her, it was merely an inconvenience.
"Ye-es...?" he asked expectantly when it appeared that no more was forthcoming. He fought to keep a straight face; it was evident that Lois didn't want to have to come right out and ask him to be her date, but he certainly wasn't going to miss out on hearing this!
"Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to..." She stopped, hoping he would save her from having to ask. Then she saw the amused light in his brown eyes and the expectant look on his face. He knew what she needed and he was forcing her to come right out and ask him! He was enjoying this! She started to walk away, determined not to give him the pleasure. After a few steps, however, the reality of her situation struck her again, and she came back to his desk. "Do you want to take his place or not?" she demanded in exasperation.
Clark grinned at the blunt, almost defiant way she had phrased it. It wasn't exactly a romantic approach! He feigned indifference, hoping to get a rise out of her. "Well, thanks anyway, Lois, but I thought I'd go to bed early tonight."
"Are you crazy?" she asked incredulously. "This is *the* social event of the season! Everyone who is anyone is gonna be there, and you want to go to bed early?"
He rose from his seat and approached her. "So, is this... a date?" His pause emphasized his meaning. He knew, of course, that it was no such thing, but he couldn't seem to help himself; teasing Lois was fun, and he enjoyed the fiery light in her eyes.
"Date? Oh!" Her voice turned deceptively sweet. "Oh, you mean like in Kansas, where you meet my parents and then you try and give me a hickey in the vacant lot behind the Dairy Freeze." She glared at him then, and the mocking tone left her voice. "No this is not a date! This is business. I am going to land the first one-on-one Lex Luthor interview if it kills me!"
"Okay," Clark said, stopping her tirade, deciding that if he teased her any more she might withdraw her offer.
Lois looked momentarily surprised. "Good. I'll see you there." She started to walk away, then swung back to face him. "Nine," she added. He nodded. "Okay," she said uncertainly, not sure that it was a good idea to be at the Ball with her new coworker. She got her coat and her satchel, and turned to take one last look at Clark. He waggled his fingers at her cheerfully, and she left the newsroom.
Clark chuckled. Even though she didn't seem very enthusiastic about having him substitute for her original escort, he had to admit that her take on dating in Kansas was pretty funny.
Now that his evening's plans had substantially changed, Clark quickly gathered his belongings and left work. He was having dinner with his parents, and he decided to go straight to Smallville without stopping at the hotel. He ducked into a dark alley, slipping his glasses into his jacket pocket in preparation for his flight.
Just as he began to take off, a man emerged from behind a hanging blanket under a metal staircase. "Hey buddy, got a buck?" the man asked, not very hopefully. His voice trailed off at the end as he saw that the young man was hovering two feet above the ground!
Clark turned in alarm. He hadn't seen the homeless man in his make-shift shelter. For a heart-pounding moment, he was afraid. For one wild moment he hoped the man hadn't gotten a very good look at him, and maybe if he took off really quickly his secret would be safe. But Clark was never one to abandon a man in need of help. He didn't have much money left, but he certainly had more than this guy did. He reached into his jacket pocket, and walked on air towards the man, handing him a five dollar bill.
"Oh, oh, oh!" the man chortled appreciatively in a melodic way. "You must be some kinda angel, brother!" Then he stared in astonishment at Clark, who smiled as he rose slowly and gracefully into the night sky, made a lazily looping circle overhead, and vanished with a whoosh. "Some kind of... angel!" he repeated in amazement.
Clark swooped effortlessly past the skyscrapers, a satisfied feeling from having helped someone transforming into a giddy excitement. Metropolis spread out below and around him, a glittering array of lights and muted sounds, full of excitement and danger, and a sharp-tongued, prickly young woman with beautiful burnished hair and lively brown eyes.
It wasn't a date, he reminded himself; she wasn't interested in him. The grin remained on his face all the way west to Kansas. He landed in front of an old farmhouse which glowed softly with welcoming lights, climbed the porch steps, and opened the door. It was great to be home!
*****
"Dinner was great, Mom, thanks," Clark said warmly. After eating take-out in his crummy hotel room, it was a balm to his soul to eat a home-cooked meal.
"Thanks, honey," Martha murmured in response, happy to have him home for a visit.
His father grunted an agreement, but couldn't refrain from adding, "More than I get these days! Your mother is now an 'artiste'," he explained to Clark, gesturing to a large, rather severe metal sculpture in the middle of the room. It was all sharp angles and silver planes punctuated by holes.
"I call it, 'Too Much, Too Soon, Tortured Heart, Waning Moon'," Martha said with a broad smile. "What do you think? Too cerebral?" she asked, suddenly looking a bit unsure.
"No! No, it's..." He searched for an adjective. He thought the sculpture was interesting, and his mom's welding skills were impressive, but it was a rather bizarre name! He wouldn't hurt his mom's feelings for anything in the world, though, and she was looking at him hopefully. "It's very imaginative," he finished.
"Uh-huh," his father grunted, giving him a conspiratorial, knowing look as he rose from the table with his dishes.
"So now tell me more about this woman you're going to Lex Luthor's Ball with," his mother called from the kitchen.
"Lois is... well, she's complicated," Clark began, not quite sure how to sum up Lois Lane. "Domineering, uncompromising, pigheaded... brilliant," he added more softly with a smile. His parents both picked up on the change in his voice, and they smiled at him, prompting him to add, "And we're not really going out, it's 'business'."
"Uh-huh," Martha said, her smile growing bigger.
"Thanks for sewing my jacket, Mom," he said as he stood up.
"You're welcome, honey," she said softly.
"That electrical storm over Cleveland was brutal."
"Maybe you should take another route," she suggested simply, putting her arms up for a hug. "See you next week, honey. I love you. Take care!"
Jonathan went outside with Clark, and the two stood out by the barn for a few moments together, silently looking up at the sky. "I forget how beautiful it is here," Clark said contemplatively, his voice disturbing the hush of the evening. "The only stars you see in Metropolis are riding around in limos," he added wryly.
"You're the one who wanted the rat race," his father said lightly. "I couldn't live there, not for a minute!"
Clark tried to explain to his dad what the appeal was. "There's something about the city... the pace... everyone going somewhere."
"Impatient," Jonathan said succinctly. "Just like you." He smiled at his son then, knowing that Clark wasn't born to be a Kansas farmer, and not holding it against him. "Well, I guess you finally found your niche," he relented, resting his big hand on his son's broad shoulder. "You can stop living out of that old suitcase."
"I hope so, Dad," he answered with a sigh, looking around at his home and wondering if there was a place for him on this world. "Being in Metropolis, working at the Planet, it's a dream come true, but..."
"But you still feel like you don't fit in," Jonathan finished, understanding him perfectly. His heart ached for his son.
"I don't!" Clark said quickly. "I don't fit in." He never had, and he probably never would, because he was different. Resentment, years of pain and longing and frustration, built up within him quickly, and he needed to release it, let it go, because it wouldn't do him any good. He spotted a rock on the ground and concentrated all of his self-pity into a swift kick.
Jonathan Kent watched the rock soar up into orbit.
"I have to control myself, all the time, never use my powers because I don't want to jeopardize my chance to lead a normal life!"
"Whatever that means," Jonathan said, trying to remind his son that there was no such thing as normal.
"Just... being human, like you and Mom. Living, working, meeting someone, having a family," Clark replied wistfully.
"Clark, we don't know if that's possible," his dad cautioned him, although Clark refused to accept that terrible possibility. "And you can't risk anyone finding out about you. If they knew you came from another planet..."
"But I can't hide forever, Dad," Clark protested passionately. "There has to be a way that I can be Clark Kent and still use what I've been given to do some good!" Seeing the strained, sad look on his father's face, Clark realized that the conversation was upsetting his dad. He sighed, hanging his head for a moment. He knew it hadn't been easy on his parents, having a son like him. He knew how much his father had worried, through the years, that someone would find out Clark's secret and take him away from them. He went to his dad, reaching out and giving him a
hug.
Jonathan patted his back reassuringly. If it was important to Clark, he would offer his support. "You'll find a way, boy. You'll find a way."
*****
Clark and Jimmy walked together through the elegant rooms of Lex Luthor's penthouse with Metropolis's high society. The low murmur of a room full of conversations, the tinkling of glasses, the deferential hushed tones of waiters passing out cocktails... It was a glittering affair. Clark searched the room for Lois, wondering what she was wearing, wondering what she would think of him in a tuxedo. Despite her need for an escort, Lois had not waited outside for him as he had expected, and he was eager to find her.
"Have you ever met him? Lex Luthor?" Clark asked idly.
"No, but I've read all five of his unauthorized biographies!" Jimmy said enthusiastically. "Rags to riches, wrong side of the track, self-made billionaire, owns dozens of companies, employs thousands of people, Man of The Year every year, has his finger in every pie, but rarely appears in public," he rattled off, intercepting a drink from a passing tray. "He won't give personal interviews. Hey, there he is!" he exclaimed in awe, pointing Clark's attention to the top of the stairs.
A handsome man in his mid-thirties, looking very dignified despite the boyish waves in his brown hair, was descending the stairs, smiling graciously and shaking hands with all those who spoke to him as he passed, dropping warm phrases left and right on those most familiar in whichever language was appropriate. "You're on my phone list," he assured a beautiful young lady. "Harry, congratulations on the buy-out." "I like that editorial on the ozone." "Senator Washington! Nice of you to come." "Merci beaucoup." He made his way down like royalty.
Lois Lane watched his progression, wondering how she would get his attention amidst so many Metropolis luminaries. She decided on a frontal assault.
Lex was talking to a trio of guests, when from behind him a woman's voice called out commandingly, "Lex Luthor!" He turned slowly, wondering who dared demand anything from him, to face a beautiful young woman. She wore a gown of midnight blue, cut low over her breasts, and her hair was caught up, displaying a slender, delicate throat and neck. Her eyes were intelligent and bright, looking at him challengingly. A woman who knew her own power, he thought, drawn to her in an instant. The storm raging
outside matched the sudden tumultuous lurch he felt.
"Why haven't you returned my calls?" Lois asked.
Lex turned back to his companions. "Gentlemen," he murmured politely, excusing himself from their company gracefully before turning his full attention on this rare creature of fire and ice.
"Lois Lane, Daily Planet," she introduced, extending a hand.
"Well, I can assure you I'll never make that mistake again," he said gallantly as he gave her a charming smile and swept her hand to his lips to brush a kiss on the back of it.
"She's something, isn't she?" Jimmy asked as he watched Lois, shaking his head with a smile, impressed by her audacity and beauty.
Clark didn't even feel his feet leave the floor as he unconsciously levitated; he was captivated and entranced by this stunning woman, so full of energ
